


i bet you, though, there's an end

by cryptidgay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Post-MAG159, Road Trips, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period, beholding is the best driver's ed, pre-MAG160, safehouse fic subcategory: journey to the safehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidgay/pseuds/cryptidgay
Summary: They’re an hour and a half out of London when Jon realizes he can’t actually drive.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 42
Kudos: 488





	i bet you, though, there's an end

**Author's Note:**

> **content warnings:** a mild panic attack, driving without a license (but doing so very well).
> 
> title from i will by mitski.

They’re an hour and a half out of London when Jon realizes he can’t actually drive.

It’s all sloppy wheel-turns and tires screeching when he pulls to the side of the highway, breathing heavy, eyes like a deer who’s only just realized its forest is gone and it is surrounded by hunters. Beside him, Martin startles. He’s been looking out the window blankly — Jon’d tried, at the start, to make clumsy conversation, but neither of them had really known what to say and it had faded off. Jon’s been glancing over to make sure Martin’s still there every few minutes. He hasn’t disappeared yet.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is still a little distant, though Jon cannot tell if that’s because of the clinging tendrils of Loneliness or because of Jon’s own panic. “Jon, what’s wrong?”

Jon laughs.

It’s funny, isn’t it? That it took him this long. That they’d driven nearly two hours, gotten well out of city limits in the car Basira’d lent them, and he hadn’t even realized — they hadn’t talked about who would drive, Jon’d just slid into the seat behind the steering wheel and said Martin could sleep while he drove, really, it was fine, and he hadn’t even  _ thought _ about how he’d never gotten his driver’s license. His grandmother had been half-blind by the time Jon was old enough, so she couldn’t teach him how to drive or get him his practice hours behind the wheel, and it had all felt like too much effort, so he’d moved somewhere with functioning public transportation the first chance he’d gotten and that had been that.

It isn’t like he’s run them off the road. That’s the problem, really. He’d had all the knowledge of what to do without ever having learned it, and he hadn’t thought to question it.

Jon’s still laughing, a half-manic thing, and he can  _ see _ Martin’s concern without having to look. “I don’t know how to drive,” he explains.

“You seem like you’re doing alright,” Martin says, slowly, like he has no idea what the hell Jon is talking about.

With a breath that’s half a laugh and half a gasp: “No, I — I never learned how — I don’t even have a  _ license _ , god, if we’d been pulled over—”

“Oh,” Martin says, and then with wide-eyes and realization, “oh.  _ Oh _ . Do you think—”

“The Eye? Must be, I don’t know how else I would’ve gotten a — a  _ psychic driver’s ed _ .”

“Right, okay; we should probably switch, right? Just in case — I mean, I’m sure your skills are probably, uh, fairly good, what with knowing every driving rule, I assume, but — if we  _ did _ get pulled over, I don’t, I don’t know how we’d explain that—”

“I think we’d have bigger problems if we got pulled over,” Jon cuts in, still shaking off the last of his panicked giggling. Basira’d warned them that the police would be looking for them. Jon had asked if they were talking about  _ normal police _ or the kind that would drag them into the woods to shoot, and Basira had given him a  _ look _ , and that had been all Jon needed to know.

Jon takes a deep breath, nods. “I’m alright.”

“ _ Jon _ ,” Martin says. Jon hadn’t quite realized he’d missed hearing Martin say his name. There’s nothing special about it, not really — only so many ways to wrap your mouth around a one-syllable word, and it’s a fairly dull name, when it comes down to it, but. It sounds safe, when Martin says it. It’s helping ground Jon right now, even out his breathing.

“It just — we left so quickly, and everything was so high-speed for a bit there, I suppose it just. Caught me by surprise, to realize, and then to realize that it had taken me  _ so long _ to realize?” Jon’s never been good at explanations, not really — the things he does always seem to make such sense until he sees them in retrospect, and then they turn clumsy.

“Of course, right,” Martin says, like he’s trying to comfort Jon, and that’s — that’s sort of funny, too, that after  _ all that _ , dragging Martin by the hand out of the Lonely, they’re back to their old roles. Something tells Jon that if a kettle were available Martin would be fleeing to make tea right now. He’s not entirely convinced Martin won’t find a way to do so anyways, even pulled off to the shoulder of a middle-of-nowhere highway with no buildings in sight.

A selfish part of Jon has quite missed Martin looking after him. The tea he makes himself never tastes as good, and he’d stopped trying after a few weeks, stuck to burnt coffee and disgusting energy drinks rather than reaching for something he couldn’t have.

He wonders if Daisy’s safehouse will have a kettle, or if they’ll have to buy one. He shelves that thought for later. Better to deal with that when he’s not coming down from a panic attack, probably — Jon can only imagine how Martin would look at him if he swerved so quickly into the subject of  _ appliance shopping _ , of all things.

Jon can breathe again, and he nods once again to himself. “I can keep driving for a while.” And then, almost an afterthought as he attempts to begin driving again: “You should rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Martin’s hand is on top of Jon’s suddenly, keeping him from moving the stick shift out of park. “So have you, Jon.”

There’s that concern again, and Jon has a brief moment of wishing Martin would let Jon be concerned about him, too. And that’s an important thought — and he’s trying, really, to be better about voicing those — so he says it. “Martin,” Jon says, hoping his voice makes Martin’s name sound safe, too, “let me take care of you for once. I’ll tell you if I wind up too tired to drive, but I’m far too keyed up to actually  _ rest _ right now, even if you were driving. I’d end up talking your ear off just for something to do.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Martin says quickly.

“Let me do this, Martin.”

Martin’s hand still on top of Jon’s. Jon turns his upwards so he can lace their fingers together. Martin’s hand is too cold, and Jon isn’t sure if it’s everyday poor circulation or the Lonely’s influence, never had a chance to hold Martin’s hand before all of this to know what his normal temperature is.

Jon’s eyes meet Martin’s, and he smiles a hesitant little smile. They should really get moving again, but he thinks he could hold Martin’s hand and look in his eyes like this forever. It’s a dangerous temptation.

“Alright,” Martin says after an eternity. “Tell me the second you get tired, though, or if the Eye stops giving you your internal GPS, alright?”

“I promise. Can’t have us crashing into a ditch after all that.”

Martin nods. Jon unlaces their fingers slowly, though it’s nearly painful to let go. Martin’s right beside him, he reminds himself. He isn’t going anywhere.

The car hums as Jon maneuvers it back onto the road. His form is perfect enough to send any driving instructor into a fit of awe.  _ At least the Eye is good for something, _ he thinks.

After a moment, Martin speaks, though it’s so softly mumbled at first that Jon has to ask him to repeat himself. “Would you mind,” Martin starts, then starts over. “You said you’d end up talking my ear off, if you weren’t driving, but — could you do that when you are driving?”

Jon is silent for a long moment. “If you want, I suppose, but… why?”

“Too quiet, otherwise. It’s almost… Lonely.” They can both hear the capitalization in Martin’s voice. Jon takes a moment to shuffle through feelings: there’s a part of him that lights up at Martin being comfortable enough to be honest with him and is equally filled with a fierce concern about Martin slipping back into the fog; he’s relieved for an excuse to babble on and fill the silence and he’s hopelessly, achingly in love. 

He’d do anything Martin asked, and this is such a small thing.

So he starts talking — catching Martin up on things he missed (only the good things, scarce as they were), summarizing what passes for a plot in  _ The Archers _ and trying not to think too much about Daisy, recounting stories from his university days, rambling on about nothing in particular. When he looks over and sees that Martin has fallen asleep, he keeps talking to fill the silence. To keep the Lonely away from Martin’s dreams, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i've had this idea in my head for a while and needed to get it out before s5 drops (who else is terrified for the trailer next week?). i've never written anything this short in my life.
> 
> leave a comment if you enjoyed it, i think we could all use all the social interaction we can get in the quarantine times. hit me up on tumblr @ [gertrudeagnes](http://gertrudeagnes.tumblr.com)!


End file.
